


I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

by thisroadsofar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Sam Winchester, Christmas, Christmas Morning, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, Sad but cute, Young Dean Winchester, cute but sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-13 12:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16892712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisroadsofar/pseuds/thisroadsofar
Summary: It’s Christmas of 1983, and Dean knows exactly what the ask Santa for.





	I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This (holiday mixtape 2018) is my very first fic challenge ever! Yayyy! :D  
> Thank you so so much to [tisha_p_moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisha_p_moon/works) for betaing! Kisses!

"I don't see the point in this, Dean," his dad had said. "You won't even talk to me, how're you gonna tell Santa what you want for Christmas? He's not even..." His dad had sighed deeply then, bending down to place his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Okay, fine. But you gotta promise not to be disappointed if you don't get what you want for Christmas. We're headed to a different town tomorrow and... and Santa might not be able to find us."   
  
Dean had nodded solemnly, although he knew it wasn't true. This was Santa, he could do anything. He'd find Dean and give him just this one thing for Christmas.   
  
So here they are on Christmas Eve, at some nameless mall in some nameless city, waiting to see the big man himself. The line goes on forever, baby Sammy's getting fussy, and Dad's way past grumpy, but Dean won’t let up. He needs to do this.   
  
The line moves forward an inch. "Kid, I'm sorry, but if this takes more than ten more minutes, we gotta get outta here. You still gotta pack your stuff and I'm gonna have to change and feed Sammy before we head out." Dean just glares up at his father. "Hey, don't give me that look. There are lives to save, way more important than asking Santa for some toy you might not even get."   
  
Dean turns away from him, pouting a bit.  _ You can't rush Santa, _ he tells himself. The line moves forward another inch. One... two... three... four... only five people in front of him. There's no way his dad could give up now, they're so close! He peeks past the people in front of him. He can’t quite see what’s going on behind everyone, but based on what he hears, poor Santa is trying to console some kid crying on his lap. Dean rolls his eyes. He doesn't understand why some kids are scared of  _ Santa _ . There's things like ghost and werewolves and ghouls, and this kid is crying about the best person in the world, the one that gives kids whatever they want.   
  
One of the elves escorts the crying child off to the side where his parents wait. Four people left. He rubs his arms as he shivers. Why is he nervous all of a sudden? There isn't anything to be afraid of, just... possibly the most powerful person ever who was willing to give him the one thing he wants most. No big deal. He takes a deep breath and holds it.  _ Fear is a good thing, Dean, _ his father always tells him.  _ Keeps you smart, on your toes. _   
  
His father laughs next to him, reaching down to press his cheeks so Dean blows out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. "You nervous kid?" Dean shakes his head, avoiding his father's eyes. "Hey, don't bail on me now," he continues, ruffling Dean's hair, "we waited two hours for this."   
  
Dean just shrugs. A set of twins having a full-blown meltdown are dragged away screaming. Three people left. Sam starts to whine, impatient in his dad's arms. Dean tugs at his dad's jacket, lifting up his arms to let him know he wants to hold Sam. His dad doesn't need to tell him to be careful holding his brother, Dean holds Sam more than their dad does these days. Just holding his little brother calms him down immensely. Sam stops squirming and smiles widely at Dean, making an adorable gurgling sound and planting his hand square on Dean's face. Dean smiles around his hand, planting a little kiss on his palm as Sam giggles. He blows raspberries into his hand and Sam laughs even louder.   
  
The lady in front of them turns around, smiling down at them. "He's very good with him," she informs their dad, who acknowledges her with a grunt. Her son, a wide-eyed kid maybe a couple years older than Dean, stares at them until his mother tugs him up in line. Dean leans to look past them, trying again to get a peek at Santa, but all he can see between the arms of the kids and parents in front of him are his black rain boots, red pants, and the skinny legs of whatever kid is telling him their Christmas wish.   
  
The kid in front of them starts having a full blown meltdown, wailing as tears stream down his face, not even first in line and already freaking out. His mother tries to shush him as she drags him out of line. John smiles proudly down at a calm Dean as they step forward again. Which means—   
  
Oh no, Dean’s next in line as the girl now in front of him steps forward and is lifted onto Santa's lap. She’s maybe a little younger than Dean, and also the first kid he's seen who’s actually smiling, petting Santa's definitely-real beard (Dad had told him to watch out for the ones with fake beards) and telling him her hearts desires. Santa’s smiling back kindly, his big belly bouncing as he lets out a merry "ho ho ho!" and the little girl giggles in kind. A quick picture is snapped and then she jumps off his lap. Sam squirms in Dean’s arms, just as enraptured with the big man in a red suit as Dean is, giggling as Santa waves at him and Dean as the girl skips happily away and the elf nearby whispers something in her parents' ears. Sam hasn't quite gotten the hang of waving yet, so he just flails his arms around until Dean finally grabs his wrist and waves for him.   
  
All the previous nervousness comes rushing back out of nowhere as he steps towards Santa and his dad steps to the side. His smile slowly fades as he realizes that he doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Santa what he wants without actually speaking. Not that he doesn't know how to speak, he’s very good at it, he’s been told. But if he speaks, he feels it’ll make what happened not two months ago real. He stops at Santa's black boots, staring up at the jovial Santa, suddenly frozen in place.   
  
"Ho ho ho!" Santa greets, extending his arms, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling. "Would you like to sit on Santa's lap?" Dean nods slowly. He tightens his grip on Sam as his dad places them on Santa's lap. And now here he is, face to face with Santa Claus himself, who can give him everything he wants.   
  
"Have you been a good boy?" Dean nods slowly again. "How about this little one? Has he been good?" he asks, grabbing Sam's extended little hand, making his baby brother squeal in delight. Dean nods enthusiastically this time. "What do you want for Christmas?"   
  
Dean looks up at his dad, who gives a reassuring nod, then back at Santa. But the words stick in his throat. He worries his bottom lip, willing the words to come out.   
  
Santa looks over at his dad. "Does he talk?"   
  
"Yeah. He just... hasn't. Not since-" but he clenches his jaw, refusing to finish the sentence.   
  
"What're their names?"   
  
"That's Dean, and the baby's Sammy."   
  
Santa takes Dean's chin gently in his hand, looking him in the eye. "It's okay, Dean. It doesn't count if you talk to me. I'm magical."   
  
Dean smiles, just a bit, and leans awkwardly over Sam so he can whisper what he wants so only Santa can hear it.   
  
When he pulls away, he sees a look on Santa's face that he's seen on everyone's face who knows his story: he feels sorry for Dean, pities him, is heartbroken for him, and Dean's smile fades again. Santa gives him a soft expression, trying to hide his sympathy, and says, "I'll do my best, kid, but that's a tall order. What about a toy for Sammy? What's your favorite toy?" he tries to deflect.   
  
Dean shakes his head, the magic gone. Not even Santa can help him.   
  
"I can promise you snow tomorrow?" Santa says in a last ditch effort to save Dean's Christmas. But they'll be well out of town towards who knows where by then.    
  
He looks blankly towards the camera, blinking away the tears welling up in his eyes. The polaroid is snapped and he and Sam are lifted off Santa's lap. His dad gives him a confused look, then leans over to ask Santa something while the elf distracts Dean by handing him a candy cane, who tucks it in his back pocket before Sam can get ahold of it. When his dad straightens back up, he won't look Dean in the eye, grabbing his hand as he rushes them to the car.   
  
  
"I told you it was a bad idea, Dean," he says once they're on the road again, Sammy changed, bags packed and another unearthly thing set in John's sights. Dean sighs and stares out the backseat window onto the dark road, squinting as headlights speed by them. "Santa's not... Santa can't give you things like that. You're supposed to ask him for toys, not-" he stops himself again, shaking his head and letting the silence fall heavily over the car. Sam snores lightly in Dean's arms, blissfully unaware of the heartache surrounding him as Dean cries silently above him. Dad's not gonna stop, he knows, will drive clear til morning so he can pretend that they're both pretending to forget stupid Christmas and the stupid presents that they won't get and stupid, stupid Santa Claus who isn’t really magical and is probably just a normal guy in a red suit. Eventually, Dean starts to nod off, so he repositions himself carefully so he can fall asleep without risking Sam slipping off. He sleeps until he feels the car slow to a stop as his dad pulls over at a rest stop. Dean figures it must be sometime before dawn because it's still dark out. His dad grabs some blankets out of the trunk, laying one over his boys and then himself as he scrunches up in the cramped front bench as best he can. Dean falls asleep again to the quiet heaves of his father crying.   
  
  
In the morning he awakens slowly, thankful that Sam slept through the night because nights spent in the Impala were rough enough as it was. Sam wakes up at the same time, blinking sleepily up at Dean and showing off his two tiny teeth as he smiles. Dean can't help but smile back, telling him  _ good morning, Sammy _ with his eyes.   
  
Sam brings his hand up to Dean's lips and is rewarded with a peck. "Dee," he says, and now Dean's fully awake, staring wide-eyed at his baby brother. Sammy's first word. Dean sits up, placing Sam on his lap.   
  
"Sammy?" he says softly.   
  
"Dee! Dee!" he squeaks again, giggling.   
  
"Sammy!" Dean replies, his smile so wide it hurts his cheeks.   
  
"Dean?" his dad says groggily, groaning as he lifts himself up to look over the seat.   
  
"Sammy!" Dean explains and Sam keeps calling Dean's name, showing off now.   
  
His dad chuckles. "Well, I'll be damned," he says, shaking his head. His eye catches the scenery outside the Impala. "Well, I'll be damned," he says again, and Dean follows his gaze.   
  
"Snow!" Dean exclaims, getting on his knees and turning Sam around so they can both look out the window. It blankets the parking lot and the rest stop building in front of them, and the surrounding fields are covered in white for miles around them. Dean can't stop smiling, and Sam won't stop saying his name.   
  
"Merry Christmas, Sammy," says Dean, giving him a kiss on the cheek.


End file.
